


Monologue

by lordnelson100



Series: Breviary: Short Tales [8]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Terrifying Tolkien Week, The Necromancer (Off-stage)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-25
Updated: 2017-10-25
Packaged: 2019-01-23 04:38:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12498940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lordnelson100/pseuds/lordnelson100
Summary: I have been here a long while.





	Monologue

**Prompt: All Shall Fade**

_#_

_Dol Guldur, Third Age_

 

Ha, he did not notice it, still. They have found all else (I must not think of it, lest I despair).

But this— this is left to me.

A simple bit of Dwarven magic, very old. A bead of iron, valueless in appearance to the eyes of strangers. Twist it, so: it is a key!

But worthless without the clue to where and how to use it.

#

I mourn my folly in setting forth so weakly protected. My mind is clearer now.

My name is Thráin, son of Thrór. Though I am a poor exile now, I am heir of the line of Durin, which stretches back even to the Elder Days.

I have fathered two sons, Thorin and Frerin, and a daughter, Dís. My dear wife died when the mountain was taken by the foul worm Smaug.

I did have two sons. Only one still lives. Frerin, my youngest, died bravely at the battle of Azanulbizar, where we avenged my father Thrór against the defilement of the orcs.

Thorin will be King after me, mighty in arms and faithful in spirit. It is a father’s boast, but I tell you he shines as brightly as the greatest heirs of Durin’s line.

Dís too bears herself as a great lady of our people: exile has not bent her down, my stalwart daughter. Her husband Víli is a quiet Dwarrow; it is just as well, for she is strong-willed.

I am a prisoner here, like these others. I must stay alive, and strong, so that I may escape when the chance arises. Against all hope, I will strive to return to my family and my people!

I am pained at the thought of my friends and followers, who were with me on the journey whence I was stolen away. Loyal, wise Balin; fierce, enduring Dwalin. How they must have sorrowed and feared, searching the camp, and calling for me in the dark woods!

And when they brought word of my disappearance to Thorin and Dís… it does not bear thinking of.

#

The map! I keep it tucked here, in the gap between these stones. The foul sorcerer found it, of course, when he searched me. My Ring he took; but this he thought a mere piece of trash. What worth has the map of a lost kingdom, where the dragon sits? No doubt he thought me wandering in my wits, to cling to it still.

Perhaps he even left it as part of the torment: that I should lie weeping over a little ragged paper, sketched with all I have lost.

More fool he.

#

My name is Thráin, son of Thrór.

I have a son and a daughter, Thorin and Dís.

My wife— my wife was not with us in the Blue Mountains, she was— lost? That is right, lost in the fall of the Lonely Mountain.

Some days I can see her face so clearly, and yet I struggle for her very name.

And Frerin. Yes, of course, Frerin is, or was, my second son! And he died at—when we fought the Orcs before the gates of Moria. We fought to avenge— our wrongs.

My father was there, too, and he was slain by Azog, the foul monster.

No. No, that is not what happened! He died before: he went alone to Moria, and they murdered him, and Nár brought back the word.

Frerin is a little boy, with scarcely a beard yet, why would he be at a battle?

He must be with his mother.

#

My name is Thráin. My father was king, once, under the Mountain.

I have a son. He will avenge me. It was he who gave strength to our people, when I could not. When I despaired. Thorin, who will inherit but an empty crown. Yet he does not break. He will carry on. Thorin always does.

For him, against all hope, I cling to these last hidden things. There is a secret in them that I—it is _important_ , that much I remember. For the rest, he will discover it. He is a clever lad.

You, too, my daughter, of course you are a clever girl, too. Go find mother, now, and show her what you have made: fine work, my dear.

#

I have a son. He will be worrying about me.

I have been here a long time.

#

I was a father.

There were children— I—they came and sat on my knee, do you remember?

Those were my children, were they not?

#

I don’t know you.

Yet you have a kindly eye. Take these, and give them to my son.

His name has been taken from me. But I see his face in dreams.


End file.
